Nor till the rage of thirst and hunger ceased
To the high host approached the sagacious guest.
I left my embryo caravan in Oak Park for the night, and returned to the Auditorium Hotel. The clerk greeted me with, "Well! well!" grasped my outstretched hand, and with a smile said, "I thought your picturesqueness had left us for good." Then, pulling a pen out of the vegetable pen-stand which squinted "How to do?" with one remaining eye, he handed it to me.
"I'm a hard customer to get rid of," I remarked; "could not get out of the city entirely this day, though I've traveled miles—jacks at Oak Park—saloon barn, best I could find—no hotel—got to eat and sleep, you know." And having said this, I walked majestically to the "lift."
"Seventh floor?" queried the elevator boy.
"No—dining room," I corrected, patting my stomach fondly.
"Pretty late for feed, guess," observed the lad discouragingly, as we began to rise.
"There's a banquet on now," continued the lad.
"Great Balaam! I am late!" I exclaimed. "I've been a week saving my appetite for this dinner. Let 'er slide kid—there!" and I hurried to the dining-room.
I knocked persistently against the locked doors, while savory odors drifted through the keyhole, and was soon admitted by the assistant head-waiter. I smile now as I recall that watermelon grin, when the darkey yawned like a coalbin in expression of his greeting.